The Sweetest Sin

by Kelly Boyce

  And her scars.

  From the defiant tilt of her chin, Henrietta was well aware of the shock this change in her usual appearance had caused, but she remained unbowed by the sideways glances of some and outright stares of others. She held her head high and made no attempt to hide the tale left behind by the fire that had changed the course of her life in such dramatic fashion.

  Still, despite this silent rebellion, Alex noted a tinge of fear in her light blue eyes and it took every ounce of his will not to rush forward and protect her from the stares and whispers. Her bold stance made it clear she would not appreciate his, or anyone’s, interference in this regard.

  He could not have been more proud of her in that moment. Nor could he wrestle his gaze from her, or hide his pleasure in seeing her. When she and her aunt finally arrived in front of him, he could not remember who had come before or what he had said to them, if he’d said anything at all. He only broke his gaze long enough to toss Susan a warning glare. His sister glared back but held her vile tongue. Alex reached for Henrietta’s hand and bowed over it like a love struck calf, pressing his lips against the silk glove and feeling the warmth of her flesh beneath.

  “Good evening, Lady Henrietta. You look exceedingly lovely this evening. I fear all of the other ladies shall be quite in a pique when they are forced to bask in your shadow.”

  Henrietta curtsied, something he had prevented her from doing when he took her hand without thinking, caring little for proper etiquette when it interfered with his being able to touch her.

  Good God man, get a grip.

  She smiled, politely. Nothing more. Nothing less. “Good evening, Lord Rothbury. Your flattery is well received if somewhat ridiculously overstated.”

  “I beg to differ. It is understated, if anything. I hope you will save me a dance, my lady. As the guest of honor, I think it only proper that I am given the opportunity to dance with the most beautiful lady present.”

  “Good heavens, Lord Rothbury.” Lady Dalridge drew her words out as she raised one disapproving eyebrow. “Such flowery praise from a man of so few words. Whatever shall we do with such? I could plant a garden with them, I suppose.”

  Henrietta laughed and her gaze dipped downward, her hand, regrettably, sliding away.

  Alex took Lady Dalridge’s hand and bowed over it. “Lady Dalridge, as always, it is a distinct pleasure.”

  The raised eyebrow remained firmly in place but a hint of humor danced in her aunt’s gaze. “Distinct pleasure? That seems a bit of a letdown. You must have used all your best words on my lovely great-niece. Dear me, Henrietta, please say you will dance with the gentleman. I would hate to be perceived as a bad guest after such an enthusiastic welcome.”

  Another smile, though this one too was held in check, lacking the warmth he had become accustomed to. “I should be happy to save you a dance, my lord.”

  “Very well then, I shall come find you later and fill in a spot or two on your dance card.” Perhaps this evening would not be as painful as he had anticipated now that he had something to look forward to. He would suffer through several hours of foolishness if it meant he had the opportunity to spend even a few moments with Henrietta enveloped in his arms. A chance to win back the warmth and affection he had come to associate with her.

  “And your brother…did he—”

  Henrietta’s expression softened and she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I had hoped—”

  “No. Well. Of course.” Alex’s spirits, buoyed by her presence only moments before, dipped. He had hoped James would attend, that they could put behind them this foolish argument. It did not feel right to be at such odds with the man who had been the closest thing to a brother he’d ever had.

  “Do not fret over it,” Henrietta said. “I am certain he will come around. He just needs to stew for a bit first to make his point.”

  “Does he often stew for this long?” Alex had no point of reference. He and James had never argued before. Disagreed, yes. Held opposite points of views that resulted in several heated debates, of course. But this—this was something different. This, to James, had been the ultimate betrayal by a man he’d trusted above all others.

  Before she could answer, Laura nudged him. “Heavens, Alexander, if you have such lengthy conversations with all the guests we will never be able to start the dancing until well past midnight.”

  Alex straightened, his face flushing. He had lost sight of everyone else around them. Thankfully, he had not said anything that would cause the gossips to wag their tongues and Laura’s quick intervention saved anyone from considering the attention he paid Henrietta suspect.

  “Of course. And the dance?”

  “As promised.”

  Next to him, Susan made a derisive sound. He pressed his elbow into her arm as a warning. He would brook no insurgence against his orders that she leave Henrietta be. “I look forward to it, my lady.”

  Henrietta offered one last curtsey and moved on. As she walked away, he wished he could follow. Wished he could keep her safe, by his side, protect her from harm and insult on this night.

  And all nights beyond this one.

  * * *

  “I must confess, Lady Henrietta, I am surprised you accepted the invitation,” Lord Walkerton said as they took a turn about the opulent ballroom following the first waltz.

  “Are you, my lord?” Hen glanced up at the earl. They had spent a definitive amount of time together over the past week, enough that the gossips now whispered about an impending proposal, though as yet, Lord Walkerton had yet to issue one. Not that Hen was in a hurry for him to do so. So much had happened in the weeks following Lady Susan’s threats to ruin her and Hen penning her proposal to Lord Walkerton in a fit of desperation.

  If only she had realized the consequences of her actions before her quill had touched upon the vellum paper. If only she had known Alexander would arrive with Lady Margaret, and that she would experience a strange, unexpected rush of feelings toward him. If only she could have imagined what kissing him would be like and how such a kiss held the ability to change everything.

  Did Lord Walkerton sense her hesitation? Is that why he had yet to propose? Or was he simply the type who took his time in making decisions, mulling over the pros and cons, giving each ample thought. Unlike others, such as herself, who simply rushed into things without thinking at all, and ended up penning proposals to relative strangers or rashly kissing future dukes on garden terraces.

  “Indeed,” Lord Walkerton said, picking up the conversation and pulling Hen away from her thoughts. “Attending a party at Lord and Lady Franklyn’s is a little like walking into the lion’s den, isn’t it? There will be no escaping Lady Susan this night.”

  He had a point, Hen would give him that. But she trusted in Lady Franklyn’s promise to keep her daughter’s behavior under control. Not that Hen had made it easy.

  Everyone who was anyone had attended the Duke and Duchess of Franklyn’s ball to celebrate their son’s homecoming. And each and every one of them had worn their finest gowns and best-cut eveningwear. Jewels shone in the candlelight, their opulence reflected in the flames. And Hen had chosen this night, of all nights, to bare her scars. To step out of the shadows and stand in the light.

  She should be afraid, and at first, she had been. For the first time since the fire, Hen had stepped out in public with her hair styled high and her scars in full view. The stares and whispers while she stood in the receiving line had buffeted against her like a hard wind, reminding her of what a monster others thought her to be. But each time she thought the attention would overwhelm her, she touched the elegant necklace she wore with its teardrop ruby set in a ring of emeralds. It had been her mother’s favorite, a gift from Hen’s father. When her fingers touched upon the jewels, they served as a reminder that her parents were still with her, that their strength and their love surrounded her. That she was not a monster, but rather a young woman with a tale to tell.

  A truth amplified when she’d reached Ale
xander and he’d looked upon her with that look he had, the one that made her fears dissipate until she felt as beautiful as he claimed her to be. Such magic his gaze and touch possessed. How difficult it had been to maintain any kind of distance. But she must. She really must! She had proposed to Lord Walkerton and she was obligated to honor that proposal. Besides, Alexander had made no overtures that led her to believe he wished to repeat the kiss that had occurred between them. She needed to move on.

  “I am unconcerned with Lady Susan this night, my lord,” she told Lord Walkerton, holding her head high. “After all, what can she say that she has not already said? Shall she comment on my scars once more?” It was the only ammunition Lady Susan had, given Hen had been especially careful to behave in a very proper manner since Lady Susan issued her threat of ruination. And short of the kiss Hen had shared with Alexander, she had been successful. A kiss Lady Susan held no knowledge of, of this Hen was certain. For if Lady Susan had known, she would have used the information by now.

  “And that will not upset you?”

  Hen slowed her pace until Lord Walkerton stopped and turned to face her. “My lord, I have scars. This is a fact I cannot change. But it is not the worst thing that has happened to me. The worst thing that has happened to me is that I lost my parents in the fire, not that the fire left me marked in a way that others find repulsive. I think I forgot that for a time and I let the opinions of others cloud my thoughts about myself.”

  “And you do not feel this way any longer?”

  Hen smiled as the answer to his inquiry seeped through her. “I’ve had the great fortune over the past year to have found myself surrounded by others who constantly remind me that my scars are not the sum of who I am. I do not blame others for how they react when they see my scars. I, too, found them repulsive for a long time. But I will no longer allow them to define who I am, or make me feel as if I should hide away in shame.”

  “I see.”

  It wasn’t quite the response she had expected from him. Bravo would have been much more to her liking. Or something of the sort that would bolster her confidence during her first outing with the scars on full display. Unless, of course, he did not consider this new revelation a good thing. Would he prefer she had kept them hidden?

  “I hope you are not displeased by my decision.”

  “Not at all,” he said, taking her arm once again and returning to their promenade about the room. “I think it quite admirable.”

  Hen glanced up at Lord Walkerton and attempted to read beyond the words to the expression beneath, but there wasn’t one. As usual, his expression remained cryptic. Calm, composed. Unreadable. Did Lord Walkerton not experience any highs or lows of emotion? Would he always be this way? Would she ever be allowed to see beneath the surface? Or was this surface all there was?

  Her shoulders slumped a little. The idea that nothing laid beyond his composure save for more composure proved rather discomfiting. She had hoped over the past week to find something about Lord Walkerton that would create the same rush of emotion—that mix of heat and longing and excitement—she experienced whenever she was with Alexander. Not that she was with Alexander.

  Before her thoughts could head down a maudlin path, Charlie and Patience came toward them, smiles upon their welcoming faces and a bounce to Patience’s step as if she had too much energy within her to be contained. Next to Hen, Lord Walkerton stiffened and once again left Hen with the impression that he did not care for Patience, a sentiment that left her perplexed. Yes, Lord Walkerton detested all things scandalous and, yes, Patience sometimes skirted the edge of proper, ladylike behavior, but it was hardly to a degree that warranted such a reaction from the earl.

  “Ah, there you are, my lady.” Charlie executed an exaggerated bow, as he was wont to do from time to time, knowing it would extract a smile from her.

  What would she have done this Season without these two? She positively adored them and it bothered her that Lord Walkerton did not share at least some of this fondness for one-half of the duo.

  Charlie turned his charm upon Lord Walkerton. “Good day, my lord. I hope you are enjoying this evening’s festivities.”

  “Indeed, I am, Mr. Elmsley. Miss Elmsley.”

  Patience curtsied and offered the earl a generous smile, receiving a simple nod of his head in response. Hen gritted her teeth. Could he not at least try to be friendly?

  Patience turned to Hen as if Lord Walkerton’s less than warmhearted greeting was of no matter. “This is the first time we have been invited to such a magnificent event. Mother has been positively beside herself and I’m sure we have you to thank for this, Hen.”

  “Me? I don’t understand.”

  “Given my past”—Patience twisted her mouth to one side as if looking for the proper word—“altercations with Lady Susan, I did not expect an invite. We assumed your close association with Lord Rothbury is what made the difference. Likely he was thoughtful enough to ensure you had your close friends about you. All the better to act as a buffer should Lady Susan think to misbehave. Although, I have yet to see her where she hasn’t been flanked by either Lady Franklyn or Lord Rothbury. Such power you wield, Hen!”

  Hen blushed, her hand flitting to the burns on her neck that never turned as red as the rest of her whenever a blush overtook her skin. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with me. Likely, Lord Rothbury is as fond of the two of you as I and could not imagine throwing such an event without both of you in attendance.”

  “You are too kind to say, Hen, and I shall bask in your good belief and hold it true. Now,” Charlie said, his smile sparking humor in his eyes. “Tell me your dance card is not filled.”

  “Indeed, it is not. Why I have the next dance free as a matter of fact.” It was one of the few empty spaces, as her card had filled up much more quickly tonight than at previous events.

  Had Lord Walkerton’s attention toward her made her appear more palatable to others? Or perhaps it had been the extra time Alexander spent speaking to her in the receiving line that had been the impetus. Regardless, Lords Huntsleigh and Blackbourne had both claimed a quadrille and insisted, once again, that she judge which of them to be the better dance partner, as they had a significant wager on the matter and required an impartial critic.

  Even Lord Hawksmoor had claimed a waltz and she found she was much looking forward to this one in particular. The viscount had a sharp, slightly wicked sense of humor and spoke frankly whenever she asked him a direct question. Perhaps she could ask him about Lord Walkerton and if he thought them a good match. Lord Hawksmoor held the secrets of many, if not all, members of the ton in his back pocket. If there were something she needed to know, he would be the one to tell her. And she could use a hard dose of truth, as the more time that passed, the more fearful she became that she had made the wrong choice.

  “I shall leave you in good hands then, my lady,” Lord Walkerton said, handing her off to Charlie. “I shall return to collect you later for our dance.”

  “Yes, I look forward to it.” She curtsied. He bowed. It was all so very formal. Would he ever loosen his tight grip on his manners and just simply—be? She tried to imagine sitting at a fire, curled up next to him reading, or talking, or simply enjoying each other’s nearness, but the picture would not take hold with any clarity.

  Or rather, it would, but in the picture it was not Lord Walkerton on the sofa next to her, but another man with stormy eyes and the hint of a smile that made her toes curl within her slippers.

  Lord Walkerton nodded to both Charlie and Patience, though he failed to look Patience in the eye, before turning away and becoming lost in the crowd.

  “Very personable, that young man of yours. Although, he does not appear to like us as much as I think he should and I cannot comprehend why. We’re highly entertaining, wouldn’t you say?”

  Hen laughed at Charlie’s feigned bewilderment, despite the truth that lurked around his claim.

  Patience patted her brother’s arm. “Oh, pish, it is n
ot you, Charlie. Everybody likes you, even Lord Stuffiness. It is I that makes him uncomfortable.” She leaned closer to Hen. “Apparently Lady Walkerton has informed Mother that her son finds me far too unpredictable in my behaviors.”

  Hen looked at Patience in surprise. “They discussed this?”

  Her friend shrugged and studied the fine embroidery on her glove. “It appears that after you dump sweet punch over Lady Susan’s head during the height of the Season, you get a bit of a reputation.”

  “Well, come along then,” Charlie said, holding out an arm for both of them. “I shall take you back to Mother so that you do not get yourself in any trouble while I dance with Hen.”

  “No need,” Patience said, nodding into the crowd. “I have promised Uncle Arran this dance and he has come to collect me.”

  “Ah, perfect. If anyone can keep you out of trouble it our uncle.”

  “My ears are burning.” Sir Arran approached them, tall and commanding, but with a twinkle in his eye that kept his hard features from being too imposing. “Ah, Lady Henrietta, how lovely to see you again.” He bowed over her hand. “My niece, Judith has just arrived and I’m certain she would be most pleased to know you are here.”

  “Judith is here?” Patience practically bounced at the news, stealing the words that sat on the tip of Hen’s tongue.

  “Indeed. They have only just arrived from Maple Glen. She indicates the renovations are coming along quite well and she and Lord Glenmor hope to take permanent residence there once the Season ends. Now, come along my young charges. If I am to dance the quadrille, I am not going to suffer alone.”

  Patience made a face and Hen could not hold back her laugh. “He shall squish my toes until I am unable to dance with anyone else for the rest of the evening.”

  “That is my intent,” her uncle said in a conspiratorial whisper. “As there is no gentleman present that I think good enough for you, my dear.”